


maybes and memories

by pvtcaboose



Category: Dog Sees God: Confessions of a Teenage Blockhead - Royal
Genre: Ficlet, M/M, also this is technically an au, as in: cb goes to beethovens funeral in this, beta'd by my beautiful friend lauren!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-20
Updated: 2018-02-20
Packaged: 2019-03-21 14:21:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13742790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pvtcaboose/pseuds/pvtcaboose
Summary: CB didn't even know why he hoped for that 'maybe'.





	maybes and memories

**Author's Note:**

> please leave kudos and comments; i thrive on feedback, no matter how minimal! it keeps me going! :-)

 CB remembered the way he and Beethoven had left that party: hand in hand, grinning and giggling like fucking schoolgirls, sweating and yet not letting go of each other, no matter how clammy their hands felt against the other’s. He remembered how breathless they were scrambling into CB’s beaten up car, remembered exactly how it felt to have one hand on the steering wheel and the other held tightly within Beethoven’s shaky grasp. 

 For a reason that CB could not bring himself to figure out, though, the rest of the night was just a blur in his head; a blur of dim, yellow, and buzzing porch lights, of squeaking door hinges and creaking hardwood floors, of hushed tones and fumbling hands as they stumbled clumsily through the dark. Only the most nominal of occurrences from that night could he remember the appearances of. 

 However he recalled the feeling of Beethoven’s nails digging into his back. He remembered how Beethoven ' s teeth had scraped softly over the sensitive skin at the crook of CB's neck, how his hot breaths had felt against CB's lips. CB's heart raced at the memory of Beethoven's face as he had climaxed, full of relief and pure bliss. 

 CB remembered how he thought that Beethoven, in all aspects, was far more remarkable and far more beautiful than any classic concerto.

 CB could remember all of those things before.

 But now, as he stood next to the opened and polished mahogany casket, staring down at Beethoven’s faux-rosy cheeks, his closed eyes and slightly parted pink lips, his mind went blank.  He had suddenly become void of thought, filling with the same terrifying emptiness that he had just escaped. But there was no escape. His head had become entirely desolate all over again and there was no ridding his mind of the nothingness. He knew right then and there that it would always be a part of him. He'd never fill the gap that Beethoven had created.

 Finally, after a moment, he began to think again. He told himself that maybe, just  _ maybe  _ if he had done things differently, if he had been there sooner, if he had  _ stayed by Beethoven’s side _ , then none of this would be happening. Maybe he could be content being true to himself for once. 

 CB’s eyes welled up with tears the more he looked at Beethoven’s still body, but the more he looked, the more he could practically see the slow rise and fall of Beethoven’s chest, just like how it did that night after the party. That was the only thing he could remember now. Maybe if things had been different, it could be that way every night; with Beethoven, sweaty hair plastered against his forehead, snoring against CB’s chest.

 But that was unrealistic. CB didn’t even know why he hoped for that ‘ _ maybe _ ’. 

 Maybe doesn’t let him go back and change things. 

 Maybe doesn’t make it all right. 


End file.
